Joe Wilson and His Mates | Page 9

was all on account of the
wild, dissipated life you'd led. She said it was a pity you hadn't a
mother or a sister to look after you -- it was a pity that something
couldn't be done for you, and I said it was, but I was afraid that nothing
could be done. I told her that I was doing all I could to keep you
straight.'
I knew enough of Jack to know that most of this was true. And so she
only pitied me after all. I felt as if I'd been courting her for six months
and she'd thrown me over -- but I didn't know anything about women
yet.
`Did you tell her I was in jail?' I growled.
`No, by Gum! I forgot that. But never mind I'll fix that up all right. I'll
tell her that you got two years' hard for horse-stealing. That ought to
make her interested in you, if she isn't already.'
We smoked a while.
`And was that all she said?' I asked.
`Who? -- Oh! 'Possum,' said Jack rousing himself. `Well -- no; let me
think ---- We got chatting of other things -- you know a married man's
privileged, and can say a lot more to a girl than a single man can. I got
talking nonsense about sweethearts, and one thing led to another till at
last she said, "I suppose Mr Wilson's got a sweetheart, Mr Barnes?"'
`And what did you say?' I growled.
`Oh, I told her that you were a holy terror amongst the girls,' said Jack.
`You'd better take back that tray, Joe, and let us get to work.'
I wouldn't take back the tray -- but that didn't mend matters, for Jack

took it back himself.
I didn't see Mary's reflection in the window again, so I took the window
out. I reckoned that she was just a big-hearted, impulsive little thing, as
many Australian girls are, and I reckoned that I was a fool for thinking
for a moment that she might give me a second thought, except by way
of kindness. Why! young Black and half a dozen better men than me
were sweet on her, and young Black was to get his father's station and
the money -- or rather his mother's money, for she held the stuff (she
kept it close too, by all accounts). Young Black was away at the time,
and his mother was dead against him about Mary, but that didn't make
any difference, as far as I could see. I reckoned that it was only just
going to be a hopeless, heart-breaking, stand-far-off-and-worship affair,
as far as I was concerned -- like my first love affair, that I haven't told
you about yet. I was tired of being pitied by good girls. You see, I
didn't know women then. If I had known, I think I might have made
more than one mess of my life.
Jack rode home to Solong every night. I was staying at a pub some
distance out of town, between Solong and Haviland. There were three
or four wet days, and we didn't get on with the work. I fought shy of
Mary till one day she was hanging out clothes and the line broke. It was
the old-style sixpenny clothes-line. The clothes were all down, but it
was clean grass, so it didn't matter much. I looked at Jack.
`Go and help her, you capital Idiot!' he said, and I made the plunge.
`Oh, thank you, Mr Wilson!' said Mary, when I came to help. She had
the broken end of the line and was trying to hold some of the clothes
off the ground, as if she could pull it an inch with the heavy wet sheets
and table-cloths and things on it, or as if it would do any good if she
did. But that's the way with women -- especially little women -- some
of 'em would try to pull a store bullock if they got the end of the rope
on the right side of the fence. I took the line from Mary, and
accidentally touched her soft, plump little hand as I did so: it sent a
thrill right through me. She seemed a lot cooler than I was.
Now, in cases like this, especially if you lose your head a bit, you get

hold of the loose end of the rope that's hanging from the post with one
hand, and the end of the line with the clothes on with the other, and try
to pull 'em far enough together to make a knot. And that's about all you
do for the present, except look like a fool. Then I took off the post end,
spliced the line, took it over the fork,